


Virtue Withers Into Vice

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 08:56:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4913188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robert Baratheon marries Edric Storm off to a Frey girl to get him from Cersei's wrath and disapproval. Jon Arryn is still the hand but the King wants Lord Stark to come join the council and help him rule the kingdom. Eddard Stark refuses but when Robert asks for Robb Stark to come South, to learn to rule and join the council he cannot be refused twice. Robb meets with the King in the Riverlands just after he has wed his bastard, and despite being warned of the decadence of the South and the reputation of many of the individuals who lack the Northern sense of honour, Robb finds himself falling into and embracing the trapping of the capital.<br/>Arryn may not be safe and Stannis has left the capital only to be replaced with Mace Tyrell, who brings his family with him. </p><p>All from Robb's POV, and how he is shaped by the capital with bad influences/temptations and no guidance. He starts to fall for the daughter of Highgarden but will she reciprocate his feelings. </p><p>Imagine the characters as the actors.</p><p>Robb isn't from the books, if you expect him to be a nice, honourable guy that isn't going to happen for quite a while and if you hate the idea of him being selfish and hedonistic this may not be for you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Change of Setting

The arrow was slightly shuddering in the black circle, just an inch outside of the bullseye, a calm, mocking reminder of a failure. Robb sighed, and raised his bow again and angrily snatched another arrow from the cluster he had planted in the dirt next to him. He notched it and loosed it quickly, missing by even more this time. He growled and picked up another arrow. He continued firing off arrows and missing the bullseye, swearing, grumbling then stalking over to the target and ripping them out with fury, stalking back and repeating the process. He was able to consistently strike the center back in the training yard of Winterfell. Yet at Winterfell he was always comfortable. He was at home, surrounded by comfort and family and though unpleasant to admit, he had a power and respect which came from being his father’s son. Yet his father was still there, and he wasn’t. He knew some day it would change when he was growing up, he knew the training and the messing around with Jon and Theon and having sibling quarrels and fun would end. It just felt a little too soon. He was six and ten and knew other boys, even younger had far more responsibility than him and he was being churlish and spoilt but that didn’t mean he had wanted it to end so suddenly. Yet it had. He emptied his lungs and tried to clear his mind. He breathed in once more as he placed the shaft on the bow, he narrowed his eye and emptied his lung again as he raised the bow, trying to make it part of his arm. He released the arrow and it missed the bullseye and he threw down the bow in a huff.

“I’m better with a sword anyway,” he snapped out loud to no one. He strode over to a tree where he left his sword and a skin of water, he snatched the water and drank deeply spitting the last out. He rested against the tree, the clearing he was in was only a few hundreds yards from the inn he had been in, and peaceful despite being so near to huge royal retinue. He had his guardsmen, who were accompanying him to the capital bring out the archery target to a clearing, there was one by the inn but the King was loud and drunk and always wanted Robb to drink with him and talk about war stories. He couldn’t fill his father’s role as his best friend no matter how much the King wanted him too. The King had offered his father a role at court and when he was rebuffed asked that he send his eldest in his stead, claiming the realm needs a Northern presence in the capital. That the Starks helped him win it and that they should have a say and help him keep it. Only his father could refuse the King once but twice was out of the question. So Robb had travelled to the Twins with twenty guards, leaving it all behind, including his siblings and Theon, to arrive after a wedding the King was attending. The King’s bastard Edric Storm had married some stoatish Frey,one of the Lord’s son’s daughter's; working out the Frey lineage would hurt the maesters in the Citadel heads. Normally a Lord of a powerful hold like the Twins wouldn’t marry his granddaughter to a bastard, but a Royal tie and a visit was worth it apparently, plus the rumours around this girl Amerei’s promiscuity needed to be quashed and the Queen didn't like a reminder of her husband's infidelity walking about.  
The Twins was an awful place, bleak and cold, not cold like the North, just a cold place without the friendliness and community. Though King Robert Baratheon seemingly made any place he touched upon lively. Robb was disappointed at the King, the fierce soldier who had vanquished the Last Dragon on the Trident was long gone, replaced by a drunken slob. He was pleasant enough when one was in the right mood, but he was drunk every minute of the day. It was why Robb needed a break, and archery was really the only practice he could do alone. Feeling a little less agitated he picked up the bow and returned to the target. He decided not to leave the clearing until he finally hit the bullseye. He removed the arrows from the soft earth, another unusual change from the frozen earth of the North, and notched and loosed. The second arrow struck the bullseye and he whooped and punched the air only to hear laughter and he jumped from his skin. He had been so sure he was alone. He span around holding his unarmed bow like a useless weapon in a guard. A blonde man in the pure white and gold armour of the Kingsguard was leaning nonchalantly against a tree resting his hand on the pommel of a golden lion headed sword. He clapped his hands together slightly too slow to be sincere. 

“I’m glad you’re here Stark, we wouldn’t have lasted long if a fight broke out without such precision shooting,” he said sardonically. 

“Who are you?” Robb said knowing the answer, he still stood on guard he was ashamed to admit to himself he was intimidated by this man.

“Did your father not tell you about me boy? Ser Jaime Lannister, your father and I are old friends boy,” he said, his voice dripping in palpable sarcasm. 

“He didn’t mention that, and don’t call me boy,” Robb snapped, regaining his confidence.

“Don’t like being called boy,” Jamie said scrunching up his face mockingly, “insulted?”

“It was simple request for politeness Lannister,” Robb replied trying to take the high ground, the King’s guard’s stopped smirking and barked a laugh.

“Fair enough Stark, fair enough, ha! You’re not as serious as your father I see,” Ser Jaime replied seemingly being honest. He beckoned “come Stark the King was looking for you, I’ll send some drones to collect your little bow and arrows.” 

“I normally use a sword,” Robb blurted out, embarrassed instantly that he wanted to impress this man who his father had spoken so ill of, when he had ever spoken about him at all.

“That’s good to hear,” Jaime said with another sardonic smile playing on his lips. “Just trying to get away from people eh? Try to find a girl, boy,” He turned and then turned back still faintly grinning, “Stark I mean.” 

Robb followed him picking up and fastening his sword belt, annoyed that he wished to be liked by this man after the briefest of exchanges. The suggestion of finding a girl was a terrible idea around the Twins, he didn’t want to catch a disease which a Frey would have. The girls wouldn’t be as clean as Ros. The Kingslayer strode ahead of him and he hurried to keep pace without looking like he was a toady struggling to catch a superior. You’re the son of the Warden of the North, the exact same as Jaime Lannister is to the West. It was only a short walk back to the inn just away away from the Twins which the King favoured when he visited the Riverlands.  
The inn had clearly been called ‘The Black Dragon,’ an age ago but the sign had been badly altered to read the ‘The Black Flagon.’ He had been alive only a few months when the Targaryen dynasty had been felled by his father, his grandfather and King Robert, the Blackfyre rebellion was beyond memory. The Starks tended to stay out of the affairs of the realm, but he was trying to approach this new world with a more open mind than he knew his father would. He admired his father greatly, and he didn’t want to come South but was going to try to embrace it. He had already met a very famous face in the King and the Kingslayer and Ser Barristan the Bold, which was exciting for any young lad who dreamed of greatness in battle. There were Baratheon guards outside the inn hold spears and shields emblazoned in the crowned prancing stag and he could hear raucous partying coming from inside, despite the sun only being a few hours past the zenith. Jaime turned back to him and winked and then pushed open the door and entered.

“KINGSLAYER! Come have a drink you bastard!” Came the King’s booming voice. Robb took a deep breath and entered the inn. 

“I’m on duty your Grace, I could never forgive myself if I were to fail to protect you due to inebriation,” Ser Jaime said with, what Robb had already worked out was a characteristic derivisiness. 

“Bah you’re a miserable cunt Kingslayer,” the King barked spilling some mead from his gold encrusted drinking horn into his greying beard. Not a regal sight Robb thought. The King’s frown reversed when he saw Robb. “Stark! Come drink with your King! Make way you idiots, this is Eddard Stark’s eldest!” He bellowed, far too loud for the closed environment of the smoky inn, even with it’s high ceiling and long bar. It was crowded with the King’s men, jockeying for favour, or perhaps just proximity to their monarch. The landlord looked delighted his King was in his meagre holding and obviously spending generously. Robb steadied himself and put on his fake smile, his mother had recommended he learn to have a courtly and clipped personna of insincere warmth in the South. She herself was the daughter of the Frey’s liege-lord, so Robb took her advice on Southron behaviour to heart. He walked over to the King, and bowed slightly.

“Your grace,” he greeted Robert. The King grabbed him by shoulder of his doublet and forced him to sit next to him.

“No need for the formalities with me son, your father and I are so close you and I are practically family. Bring this man a drink, he looks thirsty.” He barked motioning for another drinking horn, a pretty peasant girl, presumably the landlord’s daughter brought one over to him, she was staring at him, he knew he had that effect on girls, and she blushed violently scarlet when he thanked her. Making the King boom with laughter, “long gone are the days where I could make a girl wet with a glance.” The girl squeaked and scurried off and Robb felt a bit embarrassed again. The King’s language and easy reference to sex made him uncomfortable, such things were kept behind closed doors in Winterfell and spoken about only in code and innuendo. He hoped Robert’s brashness came only from the power of his position, allowing him to transcend social normalities. Robb hadn’t been allowed to drink in large amounts at home, his father rarely ever drank, in fact he only did it when he felt the occasion called for it, and Robb kept his sobriety to impress him. He decided it was probably a good idea to drink to tolerate the new situation. He drank as much of the mead as he could in one go, and he spluttered. 

“Ha! Can’t hold your drink son?” Robert barked jovially slapping Robb very hard on the back, “this is stronger than most mead, this inn is famous for it. Have another fucking drink, go on!”

“S-s-shit,” Robb coughed, earning more laughs, determined not to look weak he drank again taking smaller more measured slips. He was encouraged on by the King and his mates to finish it and they all followed suit and ordered more, banging and shouting. Robb began eating some of the bread and cheese on the table, realising it was a bad idea to drink on an empty stomach. His head was already swimming a little. The ale and mead kept flowing and he lost track of time but felt drunk as he tentatively joined the conversation and became more involved and brash himself and found himself glancing at the tavern girl more and more often. 

The door swung open and Robb saw it was dark outside, more time had passed than he thought. A very handsome, black haired man in a green and gold tunic strode in with an even more handsome, brown haired man in a rose emblazoned doublet. 

“RENLY!” Boomed Robert, hurting Robb’s ears, he then thought it was obvious the black haired man must be the third Baratheon brother and internally chastised himself for not working it out. The other man must be Loras Tyrell he decided from the man’s looks and his golden rose sigil. “Come here, meet Eddard Stark’s son.”

Renly had a genuine smile both on his lips and in his eyes as he strode over and embraced Robb like a brother. Robb then shook the hand of Loras Tyrell and they joined the table. 

“What have you two been off doing?” The King asked, and Robb was convinced he heard a snort of laughter from the Kingslayer. 

“Admiring the Riverlands your grace,” Ser Loras answered. The King was placated and returned to his heavy drinking and merriment.


	2. KL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If I could steal a turn of phrase from the show/book I tried to.

His head hurt a lot. He moved a bit and groaned, his mouth was dry and his stomach was knotted. He didn’t remember where he was. He turned over a little, in pain, and saw a roof and a door to a small room. The Black Flagon, that was it, fucking the hell the King could drink Robb thought. He reached for a pitcher he saw by his bed and drank, only to take a sip and taste the dark, strong mead and gagged and vomited onto the floor. He swung his legs over the bed onto the floor trying to tether himself to the world again. He saw another smaller flagon on a bedside table. He peered carefully in and saw clear liquid, and sighed with relief and drank all the water quickly. He instantly felt a little better. After a few more deep breaths, he adjusted his doublet, he had slept in his boots and clothes. He had no idea where the rest of his belongings were, probably with his guardsmen and the wagons the Northmen had brought with them. He stumbled to his feet, and picked up his sword belt and attached it, he opened the door and continued to stumble down the stairs, the inn was empty apart from the proprietor and his family. 

“Where is everyone?” He asked the landlord. 

“They left early my Lord,” he replied.

“What time is it?” 

“Almost noon my Lord.”

“Fucking hells,” he went to leave before turning back, “has everything been paid for?”

“Yes my Lord, his Kingship was very generous my Lord,” said the man beaming. 

Robb nodded his goodbye and left to see Jory Cassel standing outside bemused. 

“Good afternoon Lord Robb,” he smiled, “the royal procession left for the capital early this morning we should ride hard to catch them.”

“Ok,” he replied meekly, a servant helped him onto his horse. He looked around, the inn was on the side of a wide road, which lead to the Twins one way and South-East to Rosby then the capital the other. He began to ride off, the up and down motion of riding made his head explode. It’ll end eventually he thought to himself.

 

***

They caught up to the King’s large retinue a day and a half later, they could have easily caught the King the day before if they rode hard, but Robb felt he wasn’t able to, and didn’t want to be obligated to drink like that for a while. When they caught the retinue the Kingslayer mocked him for his low alcohol tolerance, the King, already drunk ribbed him too. They were apparently only a day or so from the capital and were planning on pressing on without anymore delay. There was no official explanation for quickening their pace but the rumour in the camp was there had been a raven from the Queen ordering them to hurry back. Robb wanted to see what Cersei Lannister looked like, she supposed to be the most beautiful women in Westerosi history since Visenya and Rhaenys Targaryen.

He was honoured by the privilege of being asked to ride at the front of the procession with Robert and his youngest brother and the Kingsguard. They had made a solid and consistent pace. The city loomed in the distance when they were a mile away, the spires of the Red Keep appeared first, and Robb drew in a breath and whistled, impressed. Next the huge sprawling expanse of the city came before them, the high yellow walls and more houses than Robb had seen touring the North combined littered the city. 

“You may be impressed by the sight from here Stark, but wait until you smell the shit, piss and come,” said Jaime Lannister, sidling up to Robb. 

“You can smell the come?” he asked smiling. He liked the Kingslayer, despite himself.

“Depends where you are I suppose,” Ser Jaime replied with a light shrug. “Stay away from Petyr Baelish if you don’t like the smell.”

“Baelish? I’ve heard that name I think.”

“He was fostered with your mother and aunt, he ofts brags about making advances with them both,” Jaime said casually, Robb angered, Jaime laughed, “no one believes the whore monger had the 'honourable' Lord Stark’s wife, calm yourself.”

“Still,” Robb had nothing else really to say to such a revelation. 

“Baelish is a slimey little craven, but he is the master of coin and he’s good, nay the best at it, but it doesn’t stop the fact he’s a whore monger and a brothel owner, no matter how successful one gets some of the muck on him, he could trip in his own dripping sexual diseases,” Jaime crudely japed. Despite being shocked Robb laughed. He was really warming to Jaime. His father was probably wrong about the man, he had been only a teenager when his father last saw him, during a war, people can change he decided. 

“I’ll steer clear of him, or at least wear spiked boots,” Robb replied, pathetically hoping the Kingsguard would laugh which he did. 

“You’re alright Stark, not as serious as your father.” Twice he’d pointed that out. 

“He grew up in serious times,” Robb said justifying the truth about his sombre father, he couldn’t imagine how Bran would turn out if he and his father were murdered by a King and had to ride to war. Ser Jaime lent over and punched him in the arm.

“Don’t get all serious on me son,” he said jovially, “this is the last few moments of happiness you’ll have until you leave this shit hole.”

“It’s that bad is it?” Robb asked, he knew the city was described in awful terms in the North, as a ‘rat’s nest,’ and ‘a viper’s den.’ However people talked in hyperbole a lot, he had heard Lord Umber was 9 feet tall, he was a tall man but it was still a blown up lie. 

“Depends, if you’re a boy lover or a whore obsessed craven and a braggart or the worst a person who wants to and enjoys playing court and politics,” Jaime explained seriously, he seemed bitter.

“I’m none of those things,”

“Not yet.”

“Fuck off,” Robb said without thinking only to get a laugh.

“There’s the spirit.”

“Are there are a lot of boy lovers in the capital then?” Robb asked, he had heard there were men who had sex with other men but didn’t think much of it. It didn’t happen in the North where people kept values and honour, he had thought it a decadence of the Reach or Dorne.

“Did you see how close Renly and Loras were?” Jaime asked quietly, leaning over his saddle towards him. Robb glanced around and realised they had moved just a fraction apart from the group, they were still near but were out of earshot. King Robert was talking loudly to Renly while Loras rode just behind and maybe he was imagining it and maybe the Kingslayer was teasing him but he was looking at Renly a little too much.

“Seriously? The King’s youngest brother?”

“Luckily he has heirs already,” Jaime replied, he was always amused and pleased with himself it seemed. “Though Loras Tyrell, the Knight of the Flowers,” he stopped stifling a laugh, “is said to be better looking than most girls.”

“I’ll give him that, I heard he’s a great swordsman.”

“Not as good as me, besides he’s been stabbing Renly for years and he isn’t dead, how good could he be?” Both laughed. “His sister is a sight though, wait until you see her.”

“Really, interested in her are you?” Robb asked. He caught Jaime frowning deeply.

“No,” he said thoughtfully, “I’m a Kingsguard, I’ve taken vows, no women, no sex, no companionship… But I have this nice fancy armour, so it balances out. Besides my little brother fucks enough women for both of us… For most of the Westerlands too. Also she’s near your age, I wouldn’t want to lech after young girls like Walder Frey.”

Robb laughed. The Kingslayer was clearly a decent man.

“I can’t wait to meet him,” Robb said, he heard a lot about the Imp.

“I tell you about a beautiful high born girl at court and you want to see my promiscuous little brother, maybe you should be riding alongside Renly afterall,” Jaime japed. 

“KINGSLAYER!” Robert bellowed, “I’m glad you’re making friends but I need you up here. You too Stark.” 

“Even this King understands a royal procession should look proper when entering his capital,” Jaime explained. They both turned their horses back into the line and formed up, Jamie behind the King next to Lord Commander Barristan, Robb was three rows back with the members of the Kingsguard whose names escaped him. Ser Meryn something maybe? There would be plenty of time to learn the litany of names he was clearly going to have to.

Jory Cassel rode up next to him and they exchanged greetings.

“I see you talking to the Kingslayer my Lord.”

“Aye, he seems like a reasonable sort, well more reasonable than I thought,” Robb replied, feeling he shouldn’t let on that he liked the man, Ser Jaime had a poor reputation. 

“Be careful, your father always mistrusted him. I fought with him at the siege Pyke, he deserves his reputation for fighting, but also for a lack of honour. Be careful my Lord.”

“I will Jory thank you for your counsel.” Jory nodded and turned his horse and rejoined the column with the common soldiers. 

Robb realised Jaime was right about the smell as they reached the city gates. The walls were large, thick yellow stone, not as thick as the curtained wall of Winterfell but strong still. There were peasants and workers pushed to the sides by the Gold Cloaks to make way for the King. They all bowed and shouted hails as the King, White Cloaks and Lords rode into the city. The Gold Cloaks had lined the streets to make a passage for them to enter and pass. They all rode towards the Red Keep. 

When they arrived a steward came to Jory and led the Northerners away to a compound of apartments where he and his men would be stationed, with the promise he’d be taken there later. As an arriving high Lord he would have to greet the other high Lords at court out of respect. 

The King made an unimpressive sight being helped from his horse huffing and puffing and almost slipping exposing his giant belly on the way down. The Kingsguard dismounted far more elegantly as did Renly and Loras. He leaped from his mount and a stable hand came to lead it off. The floor was sandy, the climate had changed dramatically from the Riverlands, which wasn’t too different from the North when it wasn’t snowing. The Capital, however, was far too hot for him already, he would have to buy some more appropriate Southern clothes he realised. No one was telling him what to do but he decided to follow Jaime Lannister as he was the only one he had really connected with. 

“Lost and confused eh Stark?” Jaime asked not unkindly.

“Well yes, obviously I’ve never been here before.”

“Oh right, well fair enough, you Starks and your bloody honesty, it’s disarming. Yes come on, we’re going to the Throne room this way,” he said starting towards the entrance of the Keep where the King and Ser Barristan had left for, Renly and Loras had left for somewhere else. 

He walked up the stairs a step or so behind the Kingslayer into a massive hall, which took his breath away, it was the largest room he had ever seen. There were high, thick columns covered in flowers leading up to an elevated platform with the famous Iron Throne atop it. It was ugly, and the back was much higher than he thought it would be, yet still an awesome sight. They walked past it up some stairs into the counsel room, where several people were assembled. Robb was introduced to Petyr Baelish, who left a distasteful first impression on him, a bald man in a robe called Lord Varys who was equally unpleasant and a fat man who Robb was surprised to learn was the Lord of the Reach; Mace Tyrell, who was the Master of Ships. He thought the role belonged to Stannis Baratheon but he had apparently left for Dragonstone unannounced. Mace Tyrell was nice enough, but they all seemed insincere and he remembered what Jaime told him about the politicking of the capital. 

“Where is Lord Jon Arryn?” Robb asked.

“Lord Arryn is currently under weather,” Lord Baelish said dismissively.

“Yes,” said Varys with a false compassionate look on his face and in a lowered tone, “Lord Arryn is old and illness is common at his age, but we are sure he will make a speedy recovery. Grand Maester Pycelle is tending to him otherwise he’d be here too.”

“Yes very sad, very sad,” said a toneless Mace Tyrell. 

“Ok thank you my Lords, it t’was a pleasure meeting you all however after the road I think I shall retire,” Robb said.

“What is your purpose here if you don’t mind me asking Lord Stark,” Mace asked.

“I don’t know honestly, my father was asked to attend counsel but I came in his stead, I shall do what I’m commanded to do by his grace.”

Mace didn’t respond just nodded.

Robb just turned and left, he couldn’t see Jaime and didn’t know where to go but stalked out, already annoyed at the rat council members. He stalked through the throne room and back out of the huge main gates and almost knocked a girl down who was walking past him with her handmaids.

He steadied her by the waist and immediately withdrew his hand, ashamed and moved sharply back.

“I’m sorry my Lady,” he said apologetically bowing his head, hearing giggles, there was nothing worse than the sound of a group of girls laughing in unison. 

“It’s quite alright, I’m sorry my Lord I don’t know you?” Came a musical, sing-song, beautiful voice in reply. Robb looked up and saw the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen looking back at him with a smile. She had curled brown hair, and a soft heart-shaped face with perfect skin and big, almond brown eyes which looked quizzically and politely up at him.

“I-I-I,” he stammered and her handmaidens giggled again, he drew himself up. “I’m Robb Stark of Winterfell my Lady.” She curtseyed.

“Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden,” she replied sweetly. 

“Ohhh,” said Robb realising she was the sister of Loras the Kingslayer mentioned, he was right she a beauty. She frowned. “Apologies my Lady, I have just met your father just now and your brother on the road.”

“Ah, I see have you just arrived my Lord?”

“Robb, my Lady, please call me Robb,” he felt his face go red as he acted like a bashful child. 

“Robb, of course, well please call me Margaery.” 

“I just got here literally an hour a go, my la- Margaery, I have honestly have no idea where to go from here, some steward led off my men and the King buggered off,” he explained. She giggled and smiled, she has exquisite lips and smile he thought.

“I know I have only been here a while visiting my father since he was appointed Lord of Ships. I am very confused too, I have to go meet him now Robb otherwise I would love to help to show you  


“Aren’t I supposed to offer my assistance to a Lady not the other way around?” He asked attempting charm, and was relieved to receive a cute grin.

“You’ll find everything is upside down in the capital Robb,” she said still smiling at him and maintaining eye contact, her large, soft eyes felt like they were probing right inside him it was unnerving but he didn’t want to break the look. “I fear I must go, good luck finding where you need to go.”

“Farewell my Lady, though I fear I may still be here looking bewildered when you return,” he said with a bow of his head. 

 

She smiled and curtseyed slightly again and left with her giggling gaggle of hand maidens.


	3. Exploration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If I have my geography wrong I apologise,

The apartments to where he had finally been led after milling around the Red Keep like an idiot were far more splendid than Robb could imagine, there were three levels just outside of the main keep overlooking the Street of Steel one side and Blackwater Bay the other. His men had barracks with two men to a room, which was lavish for guardsmen, these rooms were spread over two floors and had servant quarters and a storage room. Jory Cassel, as a captain had his own quarters, which were more extravagant than Robb’s room back in Winterfell. His own solar was magnificent. It had a bathing pool cut into the floor which could be heated with coals from underneath in one corner and a balcony with a dining table facing the bay on the other side, behind a folding screen which parted a quarter of the room from the rest was large double bed which was the softest and most comfortable bed had ever felt. In the middle of the room facing the doorway was a desk for writing, which had been provided with some obligatory reading materials. There were two castes of rich, expensive Arbour red wine; which tasted better than Robb had thought a drink could possibly to taste. After eating some olives and cuts of meats he poured himself some of the wine and headed to balcony to enjoy the view. He stood, then sat when his legs tired, for much of the afternoon, slowly drinking wine and grazing on the rich food taking in the heat and pleasant, salty sea breeze. He felt he ought to feel bad for not missing the North in the slightest, but who could miss the cold, the harsh and barren landscapes, perhaps not miss it but wish to be there rather than enjoy this view and experience. 

The dual sun was splitting over the horizon, the actual sun on its slow and steady path to retiring and it’s less formed reflection in the sea glinted from the clear blue waves, only to be temporarily shattered by a cog or a gallery bringing in all manner of exotic products, before reforming into an amber sphere. The people looked like ants scurrying about their business, he couldn’t get even close to this high a vantage point in Winterfell, even from the highest tower. Unlike when he had drunk with the King he was able to go at his own pace, accompanying the wine with water and food and he was feeling comfortable and warm inside, a warmth mirrored in the temperate climate on his skin and accompanied by a sultrifying breeze. He still need to buy some cooler clothes, and perhaps some of the wine he had to send back to Winterfell to ease his guilt and some silks for Sansa and something from the Street of Steel for his brothers and Arya. He smiled to himself thinking of his odd sister preferring weapons to dresses, but even her eccentricities couldn’t pull him away from enjoying himself. The great bell in the Sept of Baelor tolled five times. He couldn’t believe he had wiled away such a long time just absorbing the city, though there was a lot of city to absorb. 

Bolstered by the drink and the sense of peace he decided he would take a stroll through the upper echelons of the city, Robb knew descending into Flea Bottom was a dangerous excursion especially for a nobleman, but the higher levels were well guarded and the people were lawful. He strapped on his sword belt, over a grey tunic which had the Direwolf sewn onto the right breast and laced his boots and made for the door. Perhaps if he hung around the Red Keep he would run into the Tyrell girl again. Margaery. He felt his heart drop a little and cursed himself for being a smitten child. He had thought about her all of last night, her sing-song laugh and doe like eyes; those deep brown pools and curled chestnut hair. Her hair probably smelled of roses too… He had felt like a fool more frequently since crossing the Neck, than in his whole life. First trying to impress the Kingslayer, then choking on his drink in front of Robert and then getting obsessed with the first pretty high-born girl he had met. He still had only barely met the court, he hadn’t even met the Queen yet nor the Hand, nor the Grand Maester. 

He left his solar and walked down the stairs into the compound and waved off an armed escort. Making a pace for the Street of Steel; he left his new apartments through a portcullis past a saluting pair of Gold Cloaks. The street was a long straight path baring down a relatively steep gradient to a forked path which split into five, one road lead back up the same hill at a different angle to the Sept of Baelor and one downwards to Flea Bottom and Robb wasn’t yet sure quite where the others went. He knew the most expensive and therefore supposedly highest quality steel was at the top where he was, Tobho Mott was the man who had the honour of selling his wares from the prized peak of the hill. Robb thought he may commission a new blade from the man, he had a decent castle forged steel sword but he also had a weighty purse he wished to empty and let his hair down a bit. His father and mother would definitely disapprove but they were many miles away. He walked into the blacksmith’s forge and was immediately struck by the fancy and pretentious decorative pieces of armour which were displayed on the walls, the Southern style of armour didn’t impress him too much. There was a large, black haired lad, probably a year or so younger than him covered in soot wearing an apron swinging away with a hammer on yellow hot steel making it sing. The lad glanced at him and didn’t greet him. Did this boy not know his betters thought Robb, his temper flaring, then he cooled himself, that was no way to treat people of lower fortunes than him. He waited for a moment or so and his temper flared again and he was about to snap when a bald man, presumably master Mott appeared.

“Greetings Ser how may I help you today?” He said.

“My lord,” Robb replied a tad angered.

“Sorry?”

“I’m not a Ser, I’m Lord Stark of Winterfell!” He already regretted being such a pompous arse, he decided to put it down to the wine. The man looked shocked and bowed deeply.  
“My deepest apologies my Lord Stark, how may I help you today?” He said with a gracious flourish. Robb was tempted to chastise him but shook off that arrogant whim. 

“Yes I heard you were the greatest of the smiths in King’s Landing.”

“You heard right my Lord Stark, I can forge armour to pole axes to…” Robb held up his hand to silence the man.

“I would like to commission a sword from you, a regular length broadsword with an ash handle and a direwolf pommel in bronze.”

“Bronze my Lord? I could make it in gold or silver,” Mott suggested.

“Bronze is the metal from which the crown of Winter was forged,” Robb explained.

“Of course my Lord, I can certainly make such a blade, with a balance so fine your enemies will be dead before they can raise their defence.”

“Excellent, I would like you to do so.”

“It would cost 300 golden stags my Lord Stark,” Mott said tentatively. Robb almost spluttered, but didn’t wish to appear cheap and so nodded calmly as if such expense was commonplace, despite the fact one could get a suit of plate armour for that much.

“Very well,” Robb said extending his hand, Mott shook it.

“I shall have it done by the end of the week my Lord Stark, I shall put all my efforts into your blade.”

“See you do, send notice to my apartments when you are done for payment,” Robb said and just walked off, attempting to maintain the aloofness he felt a high lord should have when dealing with merchants. 

He explored the Street of Steel and was impressed by many armours and weapons and his ego was inflated by several knights who praised him for simply being his father’s son. When he finally reached the crossroads he made his way up to the Sept of Baelor and he was impressed, once again, the dome of temple was reflecting a setting sun and dazzled his eyes, he could see why it was used as a religious site. He walked all the way up to the hundred steps and ran them to reach the summit with its marble columns and bronze and jewelled large double doors. He decided not to go inside, they weren’t his gods but they certainly had an impressive temple, more impressive than a tree... He turned to sit on the steps at the top of the Sept of Baelor to catch his breath and look back down the street he had just walked up. His eyes caught the chestnut hair of Margaery Tyrell, she was walking up the steps towards him with her fat father and her effeminate brother with several guards of the Reach. Her father was walking in front of her talking to his son, both gave a casual nod to Robb as they passed. Robb caught Margaery’s eye and he went red. He stared straight ahead trying to not to stare. He finally looked up as she walked past and she smiled at him and placed a hand to her lips and blew a kiss to him, he instinctively snatched the gesture out of the air. She smiled and when she walked past him whispered “You owe me one back now.” He heard the soft and muffled giggles of her handmaidens as they passed into the temple for prayers. He sat on the steps for a few minutes more after the doors had been closed and the ceremony had begun. Before finally smiling leaping to his feet and whistling as he jovially sauntered confidently back down the street, he was done for exploring today. He had wine to drink and a Queen to meet on the morrow.


	4. Sunset

He had trouble sleeping the night before, the heat made it impossible to get comfortable and he had to keep moving position. Masturbating while thinking of the Tyrell girl didn’t help either and he felt guilty for doing so. However she was in his head, and he kept thinking of her words about oweing a kiss back. He would see her tonight, there was a feast to end week with. He would finally meet the Lannister Queen, which was daunting, the more he heard about the ‘ice queen,’ the more he was worried she would unman him with a stare in front of the court. The King had already become bored of him it seemed so he could hardly rely on his favour at dinner. He had been enjoying strolling around the city, as he was a lord and was treated as such but at a royal dinner everyone was a lord at the very least. He walked to his balcony and filled and drained a half cup of wine and walked back into his room to change into his new clothes, which had finally arrived. He had a thinner black tunic which split at his stomach and opened into a collar which had brown leather ties lining from the split to top so he could choose how much of his chest or neck he could expose with the Stark’s direwolf sewn onto the left side of the collar. He had dyed sandy yellow trousers and tied up black leather boots. He admired his reflection in a mirror, fussing over how many of the leather toggles he should have done up. He wetted his hair and combed it back to part it and keep his auburn curls neat, he had shaved the night before so he could have a thin layer of dark stubble instead of a shadow. He winked at his reflection and snatched up his sword belt sans sword and stuck a dagger into it and made for the door. 

His guardsmen were already cracking open castes of beer, not the unlucky handful who had to keep their posts, but the rest were clearly planning on having a good night when their young lord was away. They were in the courtyard and Robb could see from his top floor vantage Jory was on the floor below him still wearing chainmail and surveying his men. Robb strode down the stairs and walked over his captain of the guard. 

“Jory,” he greeted him.

“My Lord,” Jory replied snapping to attention.

“Aren’t you going to joining the festivities this evening? Fat Tom looks like he is planning a big night from the get go,” he said laughing seeing the hefty guard drinking from the barrel itself.

“I thought I’d keep a watch my Lord,” he replied sullenly.

“Those keeping watch have to, you don’t, enjoy yourself,” Robb encouraged him.

“Aye my Lord,” Jory responded with a curt nod.

“You’re not going to are you?”

“No my Lord.”

“Suit yourself, wish me luck and do try to have a spot of fun if possible rubbing oil into chainmail and running a whetstone over your sword shouldn’t consume a Friday evening.”

“Aye my Lord,” he replied without emotion once more turning forward once more, signalling he didn’t wish to speak anymore. Robb could have sworn he liked Jory Cassel when they were in Winterfell, he was an excellent swordsman and had fought at Pyke but once put in comparison to those he met in the capital he was a sullen bore. Jaime Lannister had fought at Pyke and he wasn’t humourless, far from it. Shaking his head he reached the bottom of the apartment steps and walked past his men who didn’t bother standing to attention. The Tyrell men would salute that fat oaf Mace and his own men wouldn’t salute him? He ground his teeth and quickened his pace. He had been annoyed when he heard whispers in the capital of those looking down on North but perhaps they had a point. No one would doubt a Northman’s honour, courage nor fighting prowess but it seemed to Robb they were a bunch of boring bastards.  
He started towards the Red Keep, heading up the sloped bridge towards the redbrick castle, the sun was almost set and Robb could see from the edge of the path the entire city sinking into a rose hue in the low light. The Gold Cloaks at the portcullis snapped to attention for him, and he smiled to himself, that is how soldiers should behave. The courtyard was pleasantly lit, the low sun threw pale shadows on the walls and the recently lit torches in the braziers made them dance like a mummer’s puppet. 

“I don’t see it,” came a familiar voice from behind him.

“What the fuck,” he said spinning around to see Jaime Lannister. “Oh you.”

“Yes me!” He flashed both hands either side as if to present himself. “What are you staring at Stark? We call these walls.”

“Your jokes aren’t funny you know.”

“Some are. Why are you dressed like that? Trying to impress the Queen? Her tastes lie elsewhere I fear,” he said with a knowing smile. 

“Like Renly?”

“NO!” He barked his face losing it’s bemused smile for the first time Robb had seen. He shook it off and smiled again, “that would be considered treason to suggest that, I actually meant her tastes are fat, smelly drunkards.”

“Surely that would be treason?” Robb laughed.

“If truth is treason then why did I stab Aerys? Come on Stark, I have a day off guarding the King and finally can have a drink.”

“You’re still wearing your armour?” Robb questioned.

“Oh I don’t have any other clothes,” Jaime replied as he motioned for Robb to follow him through the large iron gates of the throne room. He paced ahead and Robb felt they were back in the clearing where they first met returning to the inn to meet the King. The Iron Throne was more captivating in dusk, the stain glass window behind the throne made the tips of the swords cast dagger like shadows onto the polished marble floor and they sinisterly swayed under the flicking candle lights. Robb had paused to watch the rollicking black shadows, Jaime turned, “it’s a sturdy old chair, it needs to be to support Robert’s arse, come on Stark hurry up.” He jogged to meet Jaime’s pace. They exited the throne room through the same side passage he had gone through to the council chambers on his day of arrival. Except instead of taking the spiral staircase upstairs they made another turn on the same floor and were met with a long corridor which had open doors with stairs heading downstairs, the smells coming from the doors suggested they were kitchens. There was noise and music coming from the end of the hall, Robb guessed that was where the feast was happening. Jaime reached the door which was slightly ajar and placed his hand in the crack and turned to Stark. “Breath deep and protect your bollocks,” he said with a smile, a wink and patted Robb on the shoulder. Robb paused, his breath became haggard and his heart began to beat faster. 

Jaime turned back to him, “oh for fuck’s sake,” he grabbed Robb’s shoulder and shoved him through the door. He stumbled into a large room with a blazing hearth on the wall facing him, about 25 feet away, with several long tables in a horseshoe formation. One raised bench was to Robb and Jaime’s immediate right and was on a step overlooking the other benches where the King was already drinking heavily and lecherously peering down a serving girl’s top as she refilled his glass, Robb didn’t want to guess how much alcohol he’d already put away. The King’s chair had a higher back than the rest of table and the chair to his right was also more eronate, it was empty and he presumed it was for the absentee Queen. Mace Tyrell, Loras and Margaery were to the King’s left along with a couple of faces he didn’t recognise, including a young knight or lord next to Margaery who Robb instantly hated. She was laughing at something he said and Robb felt the urge to unsheathe his dagger and stab him in the neck. Shaking off such empty jealously he noticed Lord Baelish and an overweight bald man were sitting on the end of the royal dias closest to him. Jaime pushed him forward and the King noticed him.

“Stark!” he bellowed, “come eat, drink, you too Kingslayer don’t be a miserable fucker for once.” The King spat food into his beard and onto the table as he spoke and Robb noticed he was holding a chicken drumstick and was waving it like a baton. What did his father possibly like about this man he wondered. His father told him the King was a great man to respected and the Kingslayer wasn’t. He was realising Ned Stark wasn’t right about everything after all. Lord Baelish nodded hello with a smug smile on his face and the bald man introduced himself as Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks Janos Slynt. Jaime sat next to vacated Queen’s chair and Robb next to him. Robb tried to glance at Margaery and catch her eye and eventually she looked back and looked right through him and didn’t acknowledge him. Fucking bitch. Was she just a flirt who played with him for fun?

Jaime was good conversation, he spoke about the siege of Pyke and they japed about nothing in particular while eating. The benches in the horseshoe formation facing the high table were full and when he asked the Kingslayer about them he dismissed them as sycophants.

After an hour or so of eating and drinking the Queen still hadn’t arrived and Jaime said she probably wouldn’t be coming. Robb had tried to look at Margaery and she hadn’t waved or smiled at him once. He was frustrated and needed to relieve himself and got up to find the privy. He rocked on his feet a little and knew he was drunk once again he left the feasting room and walked through the throne room. Once in the courtyard he pissed against the wall while the Gold Cloaks pretended to ignore him. Walking back to the corridor between the throne room and the feasting hall a server was being harassed by a young knight.

“You!” Robb shouted at him. The knight turned to him angrily.

“What?!”

“Leave him be.”

“Or what? Fuck off boy.” Robb moved forward and punched him in the face so quickly the knight had barely managed to turn to face him, and then swept his leg as he punched him again, remembering the training he received from Ser Rodrik.

“Thank you Ser,” the server said bowing.

“Lord! I’m a fucking lord,” Robb spat pushing the server down next to the bleeding, unconscious knight. 

He returned to the feasting hall to see nothing had changed the King was still being loutish spitting in Jaime Lannister’s face as he spoke while the Tyrell contingent were keeping to themselves. After all his fantasies of Margaery she couldn’t even look at him. No one was speaking to him, Baelish was reading some large book and Slynt was draining cup after cup. The other attendees were of little interest to him. 

“Your grace,” he said loudly to Robert trying to catch his attention. After repeating himself a few times Robert finally noticed him.

“Yes Stark?” The King shouted back.

“May I be excused your grace? I fear I’ve drunk too much.”

“Hahaha don’t worry Stark you’ll grow into the drinking, go sleep and find your balls for next time.”

Robb pretended to find the King’s unpleasantness funny and said his farewells to Jaime and left. He was pissed off, he thought tonight would a time to connect and talk to Margaery and it turned out she was just a flirt who behaved like that with everyone. He had become smitten with a girl who obviously thought nothing of him. Perhaps he should seek out one of Petyr Baelish’s establishments tonight, he definitely wasn’t ready to return to his barracks.


	5. Flight of fancy

Robb walked with a purposed out of the feasting hall through to the throne room, he could feel he was drunk and felt a determination to put his energy to some use. He would need to collect his sword from his barracks and then he would find some whore or some gambling den or just more alcohol. He didn’t look upon the iron throne on purpose, so he wasn’t distracted with more sight seeing nonsense from the capital. He had been taken over and easily impressed with the loose morals and sights and sounds of the capital. He felt guilt wash over him for so easily dismissing Northern ways, he was blinded by the lights of debauchery, but it was a lie. More that Margaery was a lie.  


“Fuck,” he said out loud.  


The bitch had strung him along, the heat and the scenery and the sweet tasting wine had tricked him. He swore out loud again to no one in particular. He was ashamed at the speed of which he had succumbed to the flashy trickery and hedonistic pursuits of the capital. He barely knew her and yet a smile and a sweet word or two and he was planning a marriage. He was an idiot. No, he wasn’t, he reasoned, he was lead astray but Southrons.  
He did still feel that this evening would, nay should provide something more to him. He treked back to his apartment bloc and saw his off duty guardsmen were deep in their cups and they greeted him warmly. A salute isn’t as important as respect and a bond he thought, though it would be nice still have both. Jory was even having a cup of beer and Robb smiled and nodded to him knowingly and he received a sheepish grin back. Seeing Jory Cassell enjoy himself was a rare sight and he was glad that the stern man had finally let his hair down a bit. Robb lept up the flights of stairs to quickly reach his solar, where he grabbed his sword belt casting his dagger away onto the floor and snatching a handful of coins from a bowl on his desk. He looked at his reflection and tended his curls which refused to straighten out no matter how much water he applied to them.  


He left speedily joking and exchanging pleasantries with his men. He headed towards Petyr Baelish’s most expensive brothel, he had no intention of sleeping with some whore aligned with the master of coin, but he wanted high born company and more drink and thought that would either be the place or surrounded by such establishments where he could drink in decent company.  
He patted fat Tom on his back on his way out of the apartment complex. Better be a Northman who enjoys simple pleasures than a South sycophant coated in fancy silks and sipping pretentious wine. Though some pretentious wine would be nice, he had already decided it was the superior drink to sour mead and beer.  


He walked out of the barracks again for the second time that evening, he doubted it was even elven past yet. The sun had completely set over Blackwater Bay, but there was a residue glow from the recently set sun preventing the complete darkness from overwhelming the non illuminated sections of the city. Robb moved down into the city to find Littlefinger’s famous brothel, he had been expecting a gaudy place with a queue instead he found a building within a courtyard with an understated single door. The only signal which indicated what it was, were the hummingbirds carved into the wood. He could hear music and the sounds of revellers drifting from the inside to the out.  
Perhaps a brothel wasn’t really the sort of place he should be visiting, he was the son of the Northern Warden. Just alcohol tonight he decided, as he turned on his heel and paced away hoping nobody had seen him, though in this bloody city that was unlikely. He sought an upper class looking bar which had security who had chainmail armour and a custom sigil of the owner which was a tankard merrily spilling its contents. Once he told them who he was they didn’t just let him in but when the serving staff were informed they fell over themselves to accommodate him. He gave several gold stags pre-emptively to the waiter when sat in a booth by himself so he didn’t have to pay for each drink. After a few drinks he had his pleasant buzz back which he had lost between the feast, if one could call the King drinking himself moronic with a handful of lords and knights a feast, and walking into the city. Though it was hard to truly feel euphorically drunk when sat alone he still had a warmth and sense of self-assurance. A balding man with a paunch lumbered over to his booth with a false smile wide on his face. His skin wasn’t white, Robb could tell he was a foreigner but couldn’t place from where. The background music was foreign as well, it had was a repetitive string based symphony and he couldn’t place the instruments but it certainly wasn’t putting him at ease. 

“My Lord Stark,” he said with a bow, he had a hint of a foreign accent but had a genuine warmth to his tenure. “I am Bholar Dax, I am honoured you are giving patronage to my humble establishment.” It wasn’t humble at all, it was in a high-class location and decorated in a tasteful yet expensive manner and naught but the rich could afford the wines on offer. “Would you care for some company my Lord, we have several girls,” he said lecherously his jowls wobbling. Robb was about to angrily dismiss this up jumped wine merchant, but he reasoned that some company would be nice. He didn’t need to fuck a random whore to enjoy some conversation, even if it were artifical, he had sought out a brothel before his nerve broke afterall. He just nodded and the proprietor’s grin grew and he turned and motioned to someone out of Robb’s view. Then the fat foreigner stalked off out his vision muttering, clearly annoyed. Robb didn’t know what was happening, but once again given a moment of clarity he regretted his rashness, why had even come here? Margaery that’s why he remembered. He wanted to speak to her and she treated him like some stable boy a high-born girl teases for her own pleasure. He drained his full cup of wine, hastily refilled it and tried to drain it again only to gag just as Bholar returned to see him splutter red liquid onto the highly polished wooden table. 

“My Lord?! Are you ok, is the wine not good?” 

“It’s fine I just had to cough,” Robb managed through a sore throat. The proprietor nodded with his fixed false smile still planted on his fat face and motioned to someone out of Robb’s vision. Some waiter came and wiped the table and pushed a bowl of olives onto the smooth surface. 

“This is Mia and Madysen my Lord Stark,” the man said gesturing, again out of Robb’s view, and two black haired girls dressed in sleeveless dresses which hugged to their forms joined the owner. Both looked seductive, probably of a similar age to him, of a similar height and similar face. They could be sisters. “There are sisters my Lord,” Bholar said in the most perverted tone Robb had ever heard. He doubted it, they were probably just two girls who looked similar and were using their somewhat congruent faces for business.

“My Lord,” they both said in a clearly affected seductive inflection, they curtseyed and joined him sitting close either side of him. Draping their arms over him and resting their legs over his. He stiffened on reaction and tried to force himself to relax, to seem at home around women just throwing themselves at him. Money, it’s money they want he reassured himself. Though is that really less honourable than high-born women wanting prestige, you can’t even spend prestige on material goods you have to hope your husband honours you like a Lannister. He thought of Ser Jaime smirking at him and saying something sarcastic about his current situation. Why would he think of the Kingsguard when two ‘sisters,’ were lounged over him. 

“Would you like a drink? Erm…” He offered but realised he couldn’t tell the two of them apart. 

“Mia,” said the girl to his left who was slightly shorter and had her hair in ringlets opposed to her ‘sister’s,’ straightened hair, “so you’re Madysen?” The other girl to his right nodded smiling and confirmed this. 

“We are happy to drink whatever you’re drinking my Lord Stark,” she said smiling with a sweet false smile, clearly a business smile of a reassuring platitude to men either wishing to believe their eagerness or not caring whether it is a falsehood or not. Robb called for a couple more goblets and refills of wine. 

“What brings to the capital my Lord?” Mia asked him. 

“The King’s request…” Robb answered then thought about it, while his paid for companions sat there politely waiting, “I don’t know actually, he seems to have forgotten about me, he wanted my father and got a pale comparison.” He felt melancholy wash over him and he stared down into his wine, was he looking for respite the same way the King did. He felt delicate, soft fingers resting on his arm. 

“I’m sure that’s not true my Lord, he probably is busy now. I’m sure your presence is of great worth.” Robb wanted to snap that he didn’t need comfort which hinged on coin, yet she had soothed his poor mood a little and he had been raised not to speak poorly to a woman no matter her birth nor position. 

“Perhaps I need more alcohol,” he said and they both tittered as he drained his cup and they followed suit. A waiter appeared seemingly on cue, with a menu and the girls started suggesting the most expensive, strongest booze on offer also on cue. Robb desired to embrace this mummer’s farce. He had the coin, and had nothing else to do apart from sleep in his solar which was hardly much fun. Besides, he contemplated, he was starting to enjoy himself, the awful royal dinner he had fled felt like an eternity ago not this same evening. The foreign music was becoming tranquilising and he allowed it to wash over him. Strong smelling alcohol arrived and he drank and drank until things were becoming infinitely more enjoyable. 

He couldn’t remember what he had spoken about when he left the bar, he knew he talked incessantly and spent a small fortune once again. The sky wasn’t as dark as when he entered, had he drank all night? He stumbled as he walked, he had considered sleeping with the girls, but he wasn’t in the mood despite it being plain that was on offer. He had just wanted to moan and get his growing frustrations off his chest. He had used to speak to Jon about family matters or personal worries or Theon about female troubles. One was family the other was a Lord as well whereas here he had no one to speak with.

He stumbled and almost tripped on his way back to his apartments. His men were either snoring laying about in the mess they had created or presumably in their rooms. Jory was standing vigil on the second floor and nodded at Robb and turned back to his room clearly yawning. The man had stayed awake for him. He walked up the flights of steps to his solar and crashed onto his bed, he knew he should pour himself some water but fuck it the bed was cool and hadn't the energy to get back up.


	6. Intuition fails

He had dreamed of those two girls Miasysdens or whatever, he couldn’t remember their names, he was kissing them and they were draped naked over him and then suddenly there was banging and scraping. “Fuck,” he said out loud as he woke up to feel his mouth tasting of pure sand, he should have had some water before bed.  
“No thanks Stark, but maybe your guardsman here wants to. He was very eager to come up to your room.” Robb jumped into motion hearing a familiar voice in close proximity to his bed and he turned to see Jamie Lannister smirking at him, the gleam from the sun on his armour made Robb’s head spin. Jory Cassell was behind him looking sheepish.

“Apologies my Lord he just barged up, I tried to stop him,” he said in a conciliatory voice. Robb attempted to speak but he had no saliva in his mouth, and he just made a rasping noise. The Kingslayer’s smirk grew a little. 

“Come on Stark, wake up, the King requests your presence, I think he was deeply insulted you preferred to skulk about Littlefinger’s brothels than eat dinner with him last night.” 

“Huh?!” Robb managed moving his legs onto the ground, standing and finding water in a jug by his desk. He had slept fully clothed again, this time with his sword on floor, he must have thrown it there in his sleep. After a few mouthfuls he turned back to his guard and the Kingsguard. “What?” 

“Everyone sees nearly everything in this city, I did warn you, though I doubt you can remember anything right? Bhalor is a known scam artist, but if you love spending that kind of money you will get on with my brother far better than I suspected,” Jamie said. Robb was unnerved by this man being able to recount the night he had just had back to him. “Spies are everywhere and they report everything, they’ll do a lot of cash, they’re like whores except it’s their souls that get fucked instead of their holes.” Robb couldn’t help but laugh at that. Though regretted it as he threw up onto his own floor. It made him feel a lot better at least, he drank more water spitting the first few mouthfuls out to cleanse his palate. 

“Come on Stark can’t dally too long. No one will notice you’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday,” Jaime said. “I have basically worn the same clothes since I was sixteen and no one says anything, though I have killed more than just my own dignity.”

“Fuck…” Robb began only to cough, “F-fuck, oh fuck.”

“Fuck me?” Jaime offered. 

“No thanks,” Robb replied which made Jaime laugh out loud, he wished he didn’t want this man’s approval but he was still glad he got a laugh. 

After splashing water onto his face and trying to tend to his curls he finally walked out after Jaime Lannister, his head pounding and the sun feeling like an offense to his very existence. He needed some bacon and eggs he thought but his stomach tightened. Perhaps no food yet. He did feel a bit less sick just moving about. Jaime was nice enough not to speak to him during their brief journey and he appreciated his empathy for his current condition. He didn’t even bother glancing back towards the view of the city or the bay when they reached the path up to the portcullis of the Red Keep. As they walked into the courtyard before the large doors to the throne room Robb was aware of the many people milling about but he didn’t have the inclination to look up. Jaime opened the throne room door and placed his hand on Robb’s chest to stop him advancing. “After you my Lady,” he said and Robb looked up to see Margaery Tyrell and a couple of her handmaidens moving into the room. She smiled at him and greeted him but he looked away not wanting to look at that bitch. She looked crestfallen as she glided gracefully forward. 

“You should be nice to her,” Jaime said.

“Why?”

“Then you wouldn’t have to linger outside of brothels late night.”

“Fuck you,” Robb snarled.

“I like you Stark,” he laughed, “a man after my own heart, well except the whoring.”

“I didn’t go to the brothel, and it is surely better to see a whore than repeatedly wanking into your golden armour.”

“It isn’t gold it’s just painted gold,” Jaime said, “I don’t know why that matters… Fuck you right back.” They both laughed as Jaime put his hand on Robb’s back and shoved him forward. “You forgot your sword so I wouldn’t be too cocky with me Stark.”

“Oh shit,” Robb swore loudly, and he went red as a few of the members of court shot him dirty looks. Margaery and her fat father were to the side of the throne and Ser Barristan was standing behind the throne on one side and another Kingsguard, unknown to Robb, was standing on the other. King Robert was slumped over the Iron Throne looking pale and probably far more hungover than Robb was, though unlike Robb he draining cups of wine. A step lower down was a wooden throne and Robb gasped as he felt his breath leave him as he saw the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She must be Cersei Lannister. A blonde woman with long, curly blonde hair and blazing green eyes placed perfectly in a fair skinned face, she had a slender figure with a curved waist and the large breasts under a red dress with sleeves going down half her arm. She was gorgeous, though Robb lost a degree of his attraction to her when he could recognise Ser Jaime's features in hers. 

“Stark, Stark!” the King shouted gesturing, “come here Stark.” Robb approached and knelt.

“You grace,” he said solemnly, and turned to Queen Cersei, “my Queen,” he said in an equally solemn tone. She put on the most contemptuous smile he had ever seen, the corner of her plump red lips twitched slightly for a moment at the corner. She lazily held out her hand which had several bejewelled rings on, and Robb took it carefully and quickly kissed it and withdrew from her. 

“Now the fucking pleasantries are done have you met Lord Tyrell Stark?” King Robert asked, he was talking just slightly too loud.

“Yes your grace,” Robb replied nodding to Mace Tyrell, he certainly wasn’t bowing to that man, who surrendered at the first sight of his father’s banners many years ago. He felt no respect for that pompous puffed up man. He was the embodiment of the South for Robb, despite only meeting him twice, he seemed cowardly yet proud of himself. 

“His son Ser Loras Tyrell you met in the Riverlands, and his daughter Margaery Tyrell,” Robert said. “She’s a beauty is she not,” the King said embarrassing both her, her father and Robb. Robb could feel Jamie’s smile over his shoulder. 

“I’ve met her yes,” Robb said in an emotionless voice. 

“My Lord Stark,” she said with an adorable smile on her heart shaped face, Robb met her big, deep brown eyes which had a look of expectancy within them, she tucked a strand of her chestnut hair behind her ear as he felt a pang towards her. The look of innocence was so purposefully seductive his pang turned to anger.

“Tyrell,” he spat, barely hiding his anger, she looked hurt and even took a step back. 

“You need to work on your courtly grace Stark, don’t worry your father was the same,” the King said laughing with his fat belly wobbling. “Come let us eat.” Cersei Lannister rolled her eyes stood up and left with four red cloaked Lannister guards. Robb went with the King and his entourage and the Tyrells to a banquet table out on a terrace outside looking over Blackwater Bay. He had never been to this part of the Red Keep before and found out they were the gardens granted to the Lord of Highgarden. He was seated on the opposite side of the King to the Tyrells and he spoke to Ser Jaime. He avoided making eye contact with Margaery. 

After several hours of food and drink of which the King never seemed to tire Robb was getting antsy and wanted to leave. His hangover had completely gone, not only just gone but replaced with a tipsy feeling. He had slice after slice of bread crumb encrusted pork, dumplings and glasses of sweet wine. The grand bell rang four times and Robb couldn’t believe it was that late. “What time did you wake me up Lannister?” He asked Ser Jaime. 

“Eleven around about.”

“I slept late.”

“Almost fucking whore tires you out does it?!”

“Fuck off.”

“I think ‘fuck off’ is the most common thing you say to me.”

“It’s well earnt, I need to piss where should I go?” Robb asked.

“Do what the King does and just go in your breeches and change when you’re home.” Robb and Jaime both laughed, though Robb did have to check whether Robert was listening before, but the King was oblivious, gnawing at a turkey leg. “Ask a stewart.”

Robb got up and found his way to a privy and relieved himself, walking back through the halls of the Red Keep towards the gardens he saw Margaery leaning against a wall. She looked up and smiled.

“Hi Lord Stark,” she said in her musical, playful voice.

“My Lady,” he replied flatly and went to move past her only to have her hand grasp his wrist. 

“What’s the matter with you? I thought we were getting along?”

“I thought so too,” Robb replied and carried on back to the gardens.

“I hope we can get along in the future when you’re calmer.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“Have I done something Robb? I’m sorry if so.” His heart twanged when she used his name and said it so softly. 

“Today isn’t a good day for me.”

“We all have them,” she replied. “I hope you feel better soon, so we can speak, I’m in need of a friend in the capital I was hoping it could be you.” She walked away and Robb looked at her seductively swaying hips and her tied back hair grazing the top of her waist at either side. He had never hated himself more than he did in that moment.

“Me too.” He kicked himself for being so dismissive of her. He returned to the table and drank heavily and ate gratuitously and bantering with King Robert. When the sunset the King dissolved the feast and Robb felt he wanted to see Margaery, or at least a girl.

The last time he heard the bell toll it was 8 and that was a while ago. He returned to his solar and bathed and changed, drinking wine the whole time. He decided to return to the bar he was at the night before. When washed and changed he put on a clean tunic and doublet and headed into the city. He stopped outside of the same Baelish brothel as the night before. He dawdled for a bit too long and was noticed. 

A blonde man came out to meet him before the entrance, which was unnerving, Robb didn’t realise anyone was watching the entrance, it had looked abandoned. 

“Good evening my Lord I am Olyvar, the majordomo of this establishment, may I ask your name please?” He said as if he were a merchant selling his wares.

“Lord Stark of Winterfell,” Robb said a little too grandly, he had drunk a smidgen too much, but he reasoned that in fairness he deserved respect due to his birth. Hearing the word ‘Stark,’ the blonde man straightened up a bit.

“My lord,” he said with a flourishing bow. “Are you interested in the company of a lady tonight? Perhaps several? We have many boys as well,” he offered his palms open facing upwards towards him. 

“Boys?!” Robb started angrily.

“I apologise my Lord,” Olyvar incepted him with a conciliatory tone. 

“One girl is enough,” Robb replied without thinking, he hadn’t necessarily decided he wanted a whore but he had said it now. He couldn’t be a craven and a whore monger too. 

“Of course my Lord, please step inside,” Olyvar said with a gesture inviting Robb to enter the unremarkable door. He was struck with a smell of incense and the musk of wine and smoke. “We have several girls available my Lord, I would recommend Marei she is young but knows what to do she can…”

“Yes, yes fine,” Robb interrupted. 

“Very well my Lord,” Olyvar said with a bow, he moved and whispered to a servant who scurried off. “Your room will be ready in a few minutes my Lord Stark please have a glass of wine or mead or beer or whatever you wish while you wait.” Olyvar then left himself.

“Wine will be fine,” Robb said, then frowned deeply at the fact he had rhymed a sentence. He was barely existing on his bravado and some extra liquid courage wouldn’t go amiss. He rudely snatched the cup from the servant when it was presented and drank deeply, and was happy to taste the same arbour red he had been drinking in his solar. After a few mouthfuls more in the atrium, Olyvar returned and without speaking gestured at a tapestry which he moved aside with a flourish to reveal a spiral stairway. 

“Enjoy my Lord, we will send the charge to your apartments.”

“Ok,” Robb replied and handed his cup to the majordomo and climbed the stairs, he felt his nerves kicking in, finally realising what he had done. He reached the top of the stairs and was met with a lowly lit room with a bed at the end of the room fifteen feet from him with sheer curtains hanging over it, and he could see a figure lying back on the large mattress. The only whore he had been with was Ros who was a familiar face around Winterfell. There was a table with several jugs on it and a couch to the side of it. There must have been fifty candles in the room.

Robb stood awkwardly unsure. The figure from the bed stood, he saw a pale skinned girl with blonde hair wearing a thin tunic and no bottoms walking over to him swaying her hips seductively. 

“Good evening, I’m Marei,” she said in a husky voice, “may I have your name?” All of a sudden Robb felt regretful for involving himself in this now but it was too late to back out without embarrassing himself. 

“Robb,” he managed to croak.

“Robb? Just Robb?” She said getting closer, she had lightly tanned skin with a round face and brown eyes, she had large breasts, wide hips and small amount of fat still lingering on her stomach and thighs. 

“Robb Stark.”

“Stark?!” She paused, “as in THE Starks?”

“Yes those Starks,” he replied, regaining his poise and confidence which came from his lineage.

“I don’t think I’ve met someone so high-born,” she said in an almost whisper. Robb was about to reply when she quickly closed the distance between them so they an inch from contact. She was staring at his lips, she looked up briefly into his eyes and then back to his lips and she instigated their kiss. “I’ll take care of you my Lord,” she said quietly. Her lips were plump and her tongue moved over his teeth until he parted them and she ran her tongue over the top of his and he moved his back instinctively in reaction. He still felt a bit awkward yet his cock swelled in his trousers and pressed against her stomach. He felt her smile in their kiss as she ran her hand over his arse and to his front. She untied the laces of his britches and knelt. She opened the final ties on his trousers from her knees and Robb shivered and moaned as she put her hand on his cock and pulled it loose. She rolled back his foreskin and spat directly onto the head of his cock and began to slowly massaged her hand back and forth down his length making him have a minor convulsion. He felt pleasure with waves of growing pleasure layered over that pleasure as she masturbated him, he then moaned loudly as he felt a warm feeling over the head of his dick as Marei took the top in her mouth, sucked, spat and repeated. He had instantly lost his doubts and put his hands, lightly, shyly even on the back of her head. She pushed her head further and further down his shaft until she almost choked having nearly all of his length in her mouth and throat. He felt a tremor shake just one side of his torso. After a wonderful period of time she stood and put her hand on his cock and began to lead him by it to the bed. He followed at her lead and when there she pushed aside the curtains of the four poster and pushed Robb onto the bed so he was on his back, and climbed on top all the time with his member still in her hand and slowly pushed her cunt down onto it. She was tight and took several up and down motions until she could create a regular motion. 

Robb no longer regretted coming here, he wished he had done so the night before.


	7. Emptiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cocaine is bad for you, remember that.

He couldn’t remember what it was like to wake up without his head throbbing, he told himself a couple cups of wine would alleviate the problem but he would carry on and then he was drunk again and then got more drunk and he would go see Marei some nights but that made him feel more and more guilty in the morning. He had been in King’s Landing about a fortnight, perhaps a little longer and he was drinking everyday and had seen a whore several times. Marei liked him, he could tell. Today, however, was the first small council meeting he had been invited to attend. He knew he would have little input or respect given by the other attendees, and was dreading Petyr Baelish smiling knowingly at him for all the trips he took to his establishment. The council convened once a week and he had been given a break the first week to ‘settle in,’ and now he would have to listen to Renly and Mace bicker and brag and, well and something he knew he wasn’t ready for. 

He dressed smartly and then wetted his hair in order to smooth out some semblance of a parting but was unable to. He frowned at his reflection. He should visit a barber. He strapped on his new sword which came from so called master armourer Tobho Mott and admired the direwolf pommel. It was better than he could have hoped for, a roaring wolf’s head looked up at him with gnashing, sharp teeth in the harsh bronze he had requested. The blade was sharp, strong and yet could bend far more than any castle forge steel made by Mikken in Winterfell. He was impressed at it and couldn’t stop looking at it, he had drawn it and waved it about in front of the mirror a few times, until Jory had knocked at the door once and he had dropped it embarrassed worried that he might have been caught play fighting. He had been shirking his practice duties and to be caught admiring a weapon like jewellery would have not helped his reputation with his captain of the guard, which he knew was already dwindling. Fuck the miserable bastard was his typical mental response to Jory’s silent disapproval. At first this dismissal was bravado but he was believing it more and more, Jory was a miserable cunt who refused to enjoy anything. Robb thought that even if one preferred the North he wasn’t in the North and should make the best of his situation. 

He left for the council chambers in the Red Keep, it was almost two and he would probably be a little late. There were musicians playing loudly in the Keep and he was informed by a stewart that they were playing for most of the afternoon to practice as the King and Queen were both away, where wasn’t disclosed to him, though Robb doubted they were together. He went past the Iron Throne and into the side hall and went up into the council chambers to see he was the last person there. He greeted them all and Baelish made so poor jape referencing his visits to his brothel that only he and Robb would get. Varys tittered and Robb had a day dream of stabbing him to bits. He didn’t like Baelish either, he didn’t like any of them. The council meeting took hours and he was bored out his mind, he knew his father would have taken even the most mundane tasks on with dedication and diligence but he just didn’t care. He spent the time being ignored. Someone called Oberyn Martell was apparently heading towards King’s Landing in lieu of his brother. Robb didn’t really know anything about Dorne nor the Dornish, the only thing he knew about them was that 10,000 of them were broken and routed at the Battle of the Trident, otherwise he had never knowingly met someone from the southern desert. His dead aunt died in Dorne he knew that too… He had already decided the Dornish were beneath his contempt. 

Robb left annoyed and stalked back to his quarters deciding today was a day to rest off his headache and stomach ache from the alcohol. He walked with a purpose from the council chambers, the musicians were still playing loudly and he was furious, he was hungover and been treated like an afterthought during the conclave he’d just left didn’t help. He stalked into the throne room with a purpose only to stop short on his heel when he saw Margaery and Loras Tyrell. Loras looked up at him from the atrium, the place where his grandfather had surely been burnt alive, he dismissed such thoughts instantly when Margaery turned to face him with a glowing smile. Loras whispered to her which got his back up, sure they were gossiping about him, however Loras left and just he and her were left in the throne room.

He stared like an idiot at her face, her heart shaped face, with large brown eyes, he scolded himself. He walked slowly towards her, in silence, well apart from the music still playing consistently in the background. Orchestrating his fucking life at this fucking point. 

“My Lord Stark,” she beamed with a flourish and a curtsey.

“My Lady,” he returned boldly at the end of his bravado.

“A dance?” She offered. He just nodded, he had been taught to dance at the behest of his mother, those of Winterfell didn’t dance but those of Riverrun did, so he was caught in between incompetence and middling at dance. He took her raised right hand and placed his left on her hip as she placed her right in his and her left on his shoulder. 

They made several rotations and several moves before he slipped and Margaery tripped into him, her chestnut hair resting over his shoulders, his nose was overpowered with the smell of rose blossom. Robb was incredibly aware of how close their faces were and they stared back into each eyes from merely inches apart. Their lips brushed, just as the great door to the throne room opened and she shoved him back. A couple of servants entered. 

“Sorry Robb, I thought it was.”

“I don’t care who you thought it was,” he snapped, furious all of a sudden. She wanted to dance, wanted to be intimate in private?! Well fuck her. He fixed his clothes back into proper place and stalked off. 

“Robb!” She called after him, “I’m sorry, I like you. There I said it, I do like you I’m sorry.”

He ignored her as his heart panged. Fuck her, he left the throne room and was sick in the courtyard. Another trip to Littlefinger’s is warranted he reasoned with himself. 

Though he would have to ask for some more gold soon from his father… He’d get Jory to do that.


	8. Dark Wings

“Wake up,” a voice spoke out of the dreamy lack of reality he was inhabiting, what was happening? Robb knew he was dreaming but it seemed real, “Robb! Wake up now,” the voice repeated.

Robb turned onto his side and was sick straight onto the floor. His head was spinning. He sat up, and saw Jory scowling at him, with fat Tom behind him looking sweaty. Robb swung his legs onto the floor the other side from his freshly made vomit, and tethered himself back to reality. He swore and spat straight onto the floor, some serving woman could clean that up. He stood and walked to his wash bowl and sprayed his face with water and drank some from a jug to rinse the sick taste from his mouth. “What is it today Jory? I thought there were no appointments today? I wanted to sleep some more.”

“It’s past, noon,” Jory said through gritted teeth, obviously unimpressed with his attitude, which forced a feeling of guilt inside him. “I’m sorry to tell you this my Lord but there has been a death, Lord…”

“Arryn?!” Robb interrupted him, he still hadn’t met the man after a couple of months in the capital, he had been taken ill and was being nursed back to health. 

“No my Lord, your grandfather.”

“My grandfather died along time ago.” 

“Lord Hoster Tully. They are having a dinner at the Red Keep and your presence is requested this evening and I thought you may want a few hours to prepare my Lord.”

“Oh, oh of course, well thank you for telling me Jory. Thanks.”

“I’ll leave you be my Lord, we will be in the compound if you need me or any of us,” Jory gave him a comforting pat on his shoulder, which hurt his hungover head, but he appreciated it and nodded to Jory and to fat Tom who returned a nervous smile. They exited and closed his door softly. 

Robb pulled his legs one by one to his chest to stretch them and tentatively sipped water and paced his solar trying to regain his connection to reality he’d lost in his drunken disconnected sleep. He’d dreamed he had to ride a horse down the winding streets of Flea Bottom which were covered in sleet and slush and awoke several times very distressed. 

He thought of his grandfather, Hoster Tully, he had visited Riverrun only a handful of times. He was kindly though, and had left an impression, he had never believed the man could have ostracised his own brother, he had always smiled and joked with Robb. It had been at Riverrun where he had hit a bullseye in archery for the first time to his grandfather’s applause and congratulations. He still couldn’t feel the sadness coming on, he was too hungover to be sad, or happy or to muster any emotion past self-reflection. He probably should have stopped at Riverrun on his way from Winterfell to the Riverlands when he departed a few months ago. He had been in a rush to meet the legendary and yet ultimately disappointing King, and had skipped past his mother’s side of the family. Though he knew Lord Tully was bed-bound and wouldn’t have been able to receive him. He could have seen his Uncle Edmure he supposed. 

He ate breakfast/lunch and washed and dressed in the mirror. He pressed his hand over his stomach noticing that his muscle was no longer quite as defined as when he had arrived at the capital. Perhaps he should curb his drinking, practice his archery, the Tully’s were known for the elite bowmen, it could be his way of honouring his grandfather and he hadn’t even bothered practicing with his sword more than a handful of times. He left for the Red Keep and his men gave him understanding nods and sympathetic smiles which made him feel glad. His head was no longer pounding and despite a lingering discomfort he was somewhat recovered. He thought he would leave early and have a walk around the gardens or at least have wine in the Red Keep. Walking up the inclined hill to the entrance he looked up to see the silver trout on a field of red and black; the Tully sigil flying above the Keep with a black flag underneath and the King’s colours at half-mast. Finally he felt tears brim in his eyes at the sad, solitary flag fluttering in the light breeze blowing in from the sea. He wiped them from his eyes and continued into the public gardens facing the sea and leant with his arms over the wall facing Blackwater Bay. He had gazed out from this spot before, and had dined nearby with the King only a couple of weeks ago but he had never felt any weight on him. The capital hadn’t felt real, he had behaved as he liked and had no connection with anyone from his previous life except Jory and his men who were all subordinates to him. Now a piece of his life outside of King’s Landing had gone and the news altered his world.

He stared down at the ant-like workers at the docks and wondered if the common people were working at Riverrun and were they sad at the death of their liege-lord? He knew his father’s death would affect the peasants of Winterfell. He had to shake his head to push away any thought of his father dying too, such a thought didn’t bear thinking about; especially at a time like this. He wondered how his father had taken this news, or if the raven had yet reached Winterfell, it may take a day longer to reach the North than the Crownlands. Only Sansa had really interacted with Lord Tully, Arya and Bran had been only little children when they had last visited Riverrun and Rickon was baby too young to travel. He reasoned he probably was the only one of his siblings who had any real memories of the man. His mother was likely to take it the hardest. He suddenly began to weep as he conjured an image of his mother’s crying face, imagining her sobbing was too much and he didn’t bother to wipe his eyes he let the tears fall. No one could see him now. 

His whole family would be together to receive the ill news and he was here isolated, and behaving in a way they wouldn’t approve. He had worried that Jory might report his behaviour to his father but had pushed that worry away presuming his stoic captain would hold his tongue out of a sense of duty. However he had behaved in a poor way… He was lost in thought and hadn’t heard the clinking of armour and footsteps approaching him and nearly jumped out of his skin when a mailed clad hand was placed on his shoulder. 

“You crying Stark?” came the voice of Jamie Lannister. 

“No,” he replied hastily wiping his eyes confirming his lie immediately. Turning to face the Kingslayer.

“Don’t worry I’ll mock you about it another day, I need to steel myself for Robert.” Robb gave him a questioning look. “He’ll get more drunk than usual and shout about the battle of the Trident and how Lord Tully was a great man and on and on and on. I doubt he’ll get off his arse to go the funeral but he’ll definitely make a scene later.”

A server came over with two cups on a tray and Jamie took both and handed one to Robb. “I thought you could probably use a drink today.” 

“I was thinking of cutting back, but yeah I suppose today it would be appropriate and tomorrow I can stop, especially if I have to deal with a boisterous King.” It did make sense that today was not the day to stop, just because he had drank when he shouldn’t didn’t mean he shouldn’t drink when he should. A death in one’s immediate family warranted a drink. He wondered if his Aunt Lysa would finally make an appearance, she had yet to leave the Hand’s quarters since before Robb had arrived and he hadn’t met his cousin Robin either. Jon Arryn was unable to leave bed and rarely conscious, apparently, but he didn’t understand why she hadn’t greeted him. 

“Well at least you can drink a lot I have to limit myself, I can’t be seen to be shirking my duty.”

“Will my Aunt Lysa come to the feast?” Robb asked ignoring Jamie’s observation. Jamie noticeably became uncomfortable as a deep frown set into his forehead. 

“No,” he began slowly, “No, I doubt that will happen, she isn’t one for public events, and never has been and since the Hand took ill she has taken a turn for a worse. I certainly dodged an arrow there.” He said melancholically. Robb didn’t know what he meant and didn’t really care, the residue unpleasantness from his hangover were subsiding and a nice calm was setting in. He glanced back over the tranquil bay before the Kingslayer placed a hand on his shoulder again and motioned for him to come with to the banquet table which was set up inside. He received more understanding nods and smiles from people he either barely knew or had never met, he dodged past Varys deciding he was in no mood to have to speak to the slimy eunuch and actually appreciated the simple bow of respect from Baelish. He walked his way into the Keep’s bowels and to the great dining hall where he had yet to eat. The hall was an impressive sight and the King and his retinue had yet to arrive as half the benches were empty including the high table. There was a huge oak table on a raised platform with a throne at the centre and smaller throne, presumably for the Queen placed on its right and a chair with a hand carved into the back on the left. That would remain empty. Robb was unsure where his place would be, surely closer to the King than usual due to the fact he was related to the dead man they were honouring. He decided to locate more wine and called over a server who was wandering around with a tray of drinks. He took a chalice, having left his last drink on the wall in the garden. He waited on the dais looking down at the hall, there were three long tables, each at least 25 feet long connected in a ‘u’ shape with the King’s table at the head. The centre was empty and presumably used for jesters and musicians or other such mummers during more joyous feasts. 

There were several minor lords and knights and ladies and other such people filing into the room. Robb supposed it wouldn’t be long now as he drained his cup and looked around for a server for a refill.


	9. Dark Words

“Lord Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun and Paramount of Trident!” King Robert shouted standing with his huge Goblet raised aloft, “we remember him!”

“We remember him,” echoed the room who were all standing. The King sat back down, with some difficulty and once down the attendees and Robb followed suit with the exception of Jaime Lannister and Ser Barristan Selmy who stood vigil behind the King. Queen Cersei wasn’t present, neither were her spawn, there were rumours she had returned to the Rock for a short break away but no one confirmed nor denied this and it was best not to mention her royal highness’ in the presence of his royal highness unless one wished to sour his mood. The King had greeted Robb briefly when he entered the banquet uncharacteristically on time. He had shared condolences and said he’d write to Robb’s mother to express his regret and sadness. Mace Tyrell had said he was sorry for the loss both personally and to the realm and as much as he didn’t like the man it sounded sincere. It was probably a trait of a craven, to be saddened by death. Loras and Renly both wished him the best at a difficult time and Renly embraced him, which he didn’t mind too much. Margaery offered courtly and sweet and proper sentiments but she very purposefully caught his eye and tried to communicate something through a look which Robb didn’t catch but it seemed sympathetic. 

“Robb, lad, come, come here,” the King said drunkenly, motioning to the seat reserved for the Hand of the King. His Aunt hadn’t bothered to show up in the end, to the feast for her own father’s memorial. He decided he didn’t like her without ever meeting her. What sort of cunt didn’t care for their own father? Robb moved up the table next to the King who placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, the man reeked of alcohol and he had grease and liquid, wine he guessed, in his greying beard. 

“How are you taking the news?” He asked.

“Fine, I suppose, I wish I could see my family,” he replied a little too candidly and felt tears brimming in his eyes again and he turned from the King and drank deeply from his wine allowing the cusp of the cup to obscure his face. He drank a few sips in a row as he steadied himself and when he was sure he wasn’t going to cry he dropped it back down. 

“Aye, I wish your father was here too, and I know how you feel,” he raised his own obscenely large goblet pointedly as if Robb didn’t understand he meant drinking was his coping method too. If he kept drinking the way he had been would he end up looking like the King? The thought rattled him a little, but he was starting to feel euphoric. He had eaten a few of the earlier courses but had focused mainly on the wine. “I’ll write a letter to your mother to tell her how much of a loss Lord Hoster is,” Robert repeated himself, “without that man I wouldn’t be here, and neither would your father. Without the Riverlands I don’t know if we could have overcome the Mad King. Without the unity his daughter’s marriages provided I doubt I could have held this seat.” Robert’s loud and energetic tone had become slower and more measured as he was reflecting on Robb’s grandfather’s contribution to his life. Though Robb thought he focused on what the man provided for him and not what sort of man he was. 

The feast was actually rather merry on the lower tables, not raucous but people were enjoying the royal food and the quality of it and of the wine. The King’s table was a little more subdued as Robert was clearly upset. He had drunk enough wine to kill a normal man and then drank it again. Robb had spent his time drinking too as he had to sit and endure the King recounting stories of rebellion and Hoster Tully’s increasing contributions. The words were harder to follow the more slurred they became and Robb wasn’t in the best shape either. He did listen intently though, or gave such an impression, or tried to give such an impression. 

After a couple of hours of food and drink the sombre King retired without saying goodbye to anyone but Robb which garnered him some nasty looks from the sycophants at the King’s table. The King seemed to have made himself very depressed in the one way conversation with Robb, after coming to the conclusion he would have died without Lord Hoster and so would have Robb’s father and Jon Arryn and on and on listing every person who would have possibly died had he lost the rebellion he finally went to bed. Jamie gave Robb a look of acknowledgement as he left as did Ser Barristan. 

Normally a banquet in this massive hall lasted 4 hours plus and the King had left after only 3, the other attendees seemed determined to stay and the tone became far more jovial. They didn’t care about his grandfather Robb thought, they pretended to be solemn for the King’s benefit, they most likely didn’t even know he was the grandson of the deceased, or really who his grandfather was past the name Tully. 

The only people who gave a fuck are thousands of leagues away, and he thought of his mother weeping again and stood abruptly deciding on leaving, he snatched up an entire jug of wine and left the hall without saying farewell to anyone. He once again brushed any moisture from his eyes and made his way to the spot in the garden where Jamie Lannister had found him earlier. The air was humid and there was a nearly full moon in the cloudless night illuminating the port and city beneath him. It was a beautiful view, the moon reflected off Blackwater Bay, and the faint sounds of Flea Bottom drifted up. The sadness was replaced with a calmness. 

“Hey,” a familiar female voice piped up behind him and for the second time today, in the exact same place he almost jumped out of his skin from shock. Robb turned to see Margaery Tyrell standing there, the moonlight and faint orange glow from the torches placed in brackets around the garden made her look more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. There was a look of concern furrowed on her blemish free, tanned skin and her large doe eyes looked very empathetic. “Are you ok? I saw you storm out.” She asked and then explained her lips forming a sad smile.

“Yeah, yeah I suppose I am,” Robb replied hurriedly, “I was just thinking of…” He stopped himself, he didn’t need to explain his insecurities to her, she wouldn’t care about his silly worries. “It doesn’t matter, don’t worry,” he smiled at her and turned back to the view. She walked up closer to him and looked out where he was looking.

“It’s a nice view, I can see why you like it here, our gardens look out onto the Crownlands and all I can see is wagons rolling in day in day out.” She said. “Nevermind that, tell me, you can talk to me.”

“I don’t know, I just haven’t seen my family in several months and I have no one to speak to here, I’ve been drowning it in drink but I, I, I don’t know,” he had made himself very sad again and needed a moment, to recollect his thoughts. He hadn’t spoken openly to anyone in months and he turned back to the bay.

“I understand, I sorely miss my home and yet my brother, father and grandmother are here, I also have my handmaidens you don’t have anyone,” she then gasped and put her hand over her mouth. “No I didn’t mean it like that.”

Robb laughed “it’s fine, I know what you mean,” he took a deep drink from his wine jug and then was surprised as Margaery took it from him and drank herself. 

They spoke about how they missed home and he told her of Winterfell and she of Highgarden as they took alternate drinks from the jug and spoke and laughed about the people at court they didn’t like or thought looked funny and it reminded Robb of how he joked with his siblings back home. 

“My father will be wondering where I’ve gone,” Margaery said after some time, she then giggled, “I can just imagine him puffed up and indignant strutting around and huffing.” Robb laughed at that too, she caught his eye, “I’m glad I could have cheered you up a bit.”

“Thank you for your company my Lady, and I apologise for being rude our last few meetings.”

“Already forgotten,” she beamed and leant in and kissed him on the cheek and remaining cheek to cheek whispered “goodnight.” Before leaning out completely Robb could have sworn she lingered and glanced down at his lips. She breathed out heavily, and wished him a goodnight and condolences for a second time. 

Robb leant back against the wall feeling slightly more positive. Until he felt a tap at his back a moment later to turn and see Margaery there again and this time she raised herself on her toes and kissed him on the lips, she moved back a fraction but with the alcohol and the mood he didn’t need any encouragement to lean in and kiss her back. Her lips were soft and tender against his, he lightly placed a hand on her waist and could smell the rose blossom he had come to associate with her. After only a few seconds she broke the kiss, her hands now placed lightly against his chest, she looked down and breathed heavily out a second time and looked back up with a wide smile. “Goodnight,” she said again and kissed him quickly once more and flitted out of the garden. 

Robb turned back to his view, he doubted he would stop grinning until after his grandfather’s funeral.


	10. Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not great, just moving the story along.

The headache wasn’t so bad that morning, Robb got up with a purpose, he was still buzzing with happiness from his previous evenings liaison with Margaery. It was still after 10 in the morning but better than past noon. He ate a quick breakfast of bread and cold meat, and had a lot of water and put on some light trousers and a brown tunic. He had decided he would train today. He wouldn’t drink and he wouldn’t whore. That was just a brief aberration he had thought last night when walking home from the Red Keep and now it was time to get back on track. He had to hide his good mood from his men as he knew he ought to be morbid after a dinner in honour of a dead family member.

He left his solar and jogged down the stairs and called over Jory and called for some training blunted blades and set about training.   
The training was harder than he remembered it to be, despite it only being a few months since he left the North the alcohol abuse had destroyed his short term memory and it seemed like a lifetime ago. He also felt the lingering effect of his hangover. He had to stop for several breaks but he kept at it until lunch, broke to eat, waited until he was ready and begun again. He kept this up for as much of the day as he could manage. Had a dinner and retired to his solar early to rest for the next day, and for the first time bothering to read the itinerary he had been delivered for the council meeting he would have to attend the day after next. 

The next day while out training in the courtyard of his compound in the late afternoon, the heavy sound of hoofbeats pounded towards the Stark apartments broke their drill. An olive skinned gaggle of riders entered and slowed once in the forum and dismounted. One man carried a bolt of cloth with a sun in splendour with a spear fixing through it left to right diagonally. The sigil of house Martell, Robb inwardly cursed himself for forgetting that Oberyn Martell was visiting the capital. His memory hadn’t been too good recently, he had reflected on his bad memory repeatedly, which was another sign of it failing him somewhat.   
More and more horsemen poured in, at least 30, and finally a man who looked like a highborn on a black stallion with a… a red tail? That was odd Robb considered, the Dornish were known to be strange people perhaps they had strange animals too. The man had a sardonic and cocky look about him which reminded Robb of Jaime Lannister of all people; a comparison he was sure would anger both of them. He had thick black hair which was windswept back and had sharp, pointed facial features. He looked cruel despite his brash, smug expression. He slowed his horse, still without really acknowledging the Northmen. It was rare Northerners and Dornishmen came into contact with each other and even more unusual for Lords to meet each other. Trying to seem nonchalant Robb leant back against a wall and propped one leg against the wall. 

The person he presumed was Oberyn dismounted followed by his guards. He was clearly ordering people around as his retinue moved into the empty side of the compound and up into the apartments. That was interesting, nobody told him that the Martell contingent would be sharing his courtyard. It made sense as it was in the most prestigious living quarters for guests in the city outside of the Red Keep and the Tyrells were there. Was there bad blood between the Martells and the Tyrells? He couldn’t remember if so, there was so many feuds; new, old and ancient in the Seven Kingdoms Robb wasn’t able to keep track. There wasn’t really any discord between his family and Oberyn’s. They fought at the battle of the Trident but it was the Lannisters who murdered Elia and her children. He would have to find out he supposed whether there was hate or disdain or apathy there. He doubted there would be any positivity, there was very little of that in Kingdoms. 

The man he presumed to be Oberyn finally turned to him, and the Northerners, Robb hadn’t even noticed they had formed up in a loose but confrontational wall in front of their lord. The Dornish lord appraised the Stark men with a smug, satisfied and uncaring expression, one eyebrow slightly cocked higher than the other. Robb moved in front of his men, not wishing to seem cowardly nor hostile.

“You are much younger than I thought Lord Eddard,” the man drawled in an accent Robb hadn’t heard before. He didn’t know how to respond to this. “The snow and ice must do wonders for the skin,” he continued. 

“It’s nice to meet you Doran?” Robb answered. Oberyn barked a laugh, but there was no smile in his eyes.

“Fine, I see you are not a humourless bore like most Northerners.” 

“Have you met many Northerners?”

“You’d be surprised who I’ve met young Stark,” he said sardonically.

“Robb.”

“Oberyn.”

“I guessed.”

“As did I. I thought it maybe polite of me to do my Lordly duties in my brother’s stead and introduce myself to you.”

“Very thoughtful considering no one informed me you’d be sharing this compound with us.”

“Really? An oversight I suppose.” Oberyn stroked his pointed chin thoughtfully. “I thought it best to start on the right foot with you, no need to make enemies, especially when I have so many already here.” He glanced up to the Red Keep and scowled. “I have shall bid you farewell young Lord Stark, I intend to enjoy this city tonight before my paramour arrives tomorrow and I have to attend this so called King’s council.” He dipped his head and turned abruptly on his heel, pacing quickly away to his apartment bloc. 

“So called?” Jory said from behind Robb. “That man is trouble, he insults the King and mentions enemies here.” 

“And that was to someone he just met I would hate to hear what he says in private,” added another man.

“I don’t know much of the Martells and even less of Oberyn,” Robb admitted, “but he was pleasant to us, and we have no reason to quarrel with him needlessly. Especially if we are to be sharing a space so it’s best you don’t read into what he said.”

“Yes, my Lord. Shall we train further this afternoon?” Jory inquired.

“No, no, I think I shall retire and spend my evening in my chambers, I believe I may need my wits about me for this council meeting tomorrow.” He was still feeling rough and needed to rest. Robb started to move away before realising just because he knew little of Oberyn that didn’t mean Jory knew nothing as well. “What do you know of this man Jory?”

“Little my Lord, they call him the Red Viper and little else,” he said apologetically. Robb nodded and he started up the stairs to his solar before Jory called out again. “Sorry my Lord I forgot, he crippled Mace Tyrell’s eldest son in a tournament some years ago.”

Tomorrow was going to be interesting.


	11. Sunbreak

Fuck shit, fuck shit fuck. He was late to the council meeting again, it wasn’t drunkenness this time, it was simply him been slovenly; he had gone to the harbour to get a fresh fish breakfast and hadn’t kept track of the time. He jogged up to the Red Keep’s entrance and swung open the door too quickly, it bounced into a guard who swore at him before realising who he was. He didn’t apologise, why would he bother with a glorified doorman? 

He ran past the Iron Throne, not even bothering to look, he almost knocked over a couple serving men and tore his way into the council room sweating and breathing hard. The other council members were there, Oberyn was in the chair next to the perpetually empty King’s place with his boots on the polished table, leaning back smirking. Varys and Littlefinger were reading through some scrolls, Pycelle looked half asleep, Ser Barristan gave Robb a disapproving look and Mace Tyrell was boring an evil stare at an uninterested Oberyn. 

“Ah young Lord Stark, these men wished to begin without you,” Oberyn began, amusement thick in his voice. “However I insisted on my first day at grand small council all members should be present, elsewise I wouldn’t get a proper experience would I?”

“This council begins at noon, noon sharp, don’t let this happen again Lord Stark,” Ser Barristan said to Robb. If were any other member Robb would have ignored him but he apologised to the Lord Commander and to the others before sliding into a free seat next to the now definitely napping Grand Maester. 

“Now is the King coming?” asked Oberyn.

“The King rarely comes to the small council,” Varys said in his soft, and Robb thought, condescending voice. 

“The King has many burdens, we lighten his mind by dealing with the smaller issues,” Littlefinger added in an equally false and similarly condescending voice.   
“Yes I’ve heard of his wine goblet’s size,” Oberyn commented re-crossing his legs “I can imagine it is a heavy burden indeed.” Barristan and Varys scoffed.

“That is an insult to your monarch, you should watch your tongue Martell, you’re not in Essos now,” snarled Mace Tyrell.

“Am I a master of something now?” Oberyn asked completely ignoring the Lord of Highgarden, who made the most preposterous huffing noise Robb had ever heard, “Master of war… Master of ships?”

“I am the Master of ships!” Huffed Mace, “you are here the same as Stark, an advisor to represent your Kingdom.”

“Uh-huh.” 

Mace Tyrell fumed silently throughout the entire meeting, Robb tried not to laugh out loud at the ridiculous fat man getting redder and more indignant as the source of his ire couldn’t care in the slightest. There was some boring economic stuff about the Iron Bank, and apparently there was some marriage between House Bracken and House Frey. Weddings with the Freys must happen weekly Robb thought. Oberyn didn’t interject or input at all, all he did was look bored and occasionally swapped which boot rested on the other on the table. He only perked up when the mention that the Queen and her children would be returning from the Rock at the end of next week. 

“The golden Queen returns eh?” Oberyn said.

“Yes you will be able to meet her then,” Littlefinger said absent mindedly while scribbling notes.

“I’ve already met her grace when we were teenagers, I was hoping to see the Kingslayer and reminisce about… old times.” The seemingly harmless statement seem incredibly threatening. 

“Ser Jaime,” Ser Barristan corrected sharply.

“Of course Lord Commander, a small, simple slip up I fear, I shall endeavour not to misname him ever, ever again,” Oberyn replied placing a hand, dramatically, over his heart. 

The fact Oberyn had met the Lannister twins reminded him of his age, there was a world beyond his knowledge, he had always thought of the Martells and the Dornish as reclusive but that was post-Baratheon. These men had all lived in the Targaryen era, an era which felt like long past history, not 17 years ago. 

The council adjourned, and Robb hadn’t contributed a thing once again. He exited first and when out of the hall he felt a hand land on his shoulder, and he turned to see Oberyn.   
“That was very boring, I imagine even worse for a young man.”

“They get worse each time,” Robb replied. Oberyn still hadn’t removed his arm from his shoulder.

“I can imagine, at least as a young man you don’t have enemies, the Master of Buffoonery doesn’t seem to like me still.”

“You did cripple his son,” Robb said without thinking, shit that wasn’t smart. Oberyn’s hand dropped down and he looked pensive. 

“Yeah, yeah I did, it was an accident, Willas was too young to be in the lists but his father pushed him I think, I still write him and he I,” he said, his brow furrowed. That wasn’t what Robb had expected, there was more to this man than the brashness he had first seen. 

“These things happen I suppose,” Robb floundered at finding any appropriate words. 

“I recognise hurting children is wrong, a quality which is rare among those in this city. You’re lucky you’re from an honourable family Stark, there are those who don’t share your family’s values when it comes to hurting children.” Oberyn was grinding his back teeth, having worked himself up. Robb knew of what he spoke, well at least guessed he did, but didn’t want to inflame the situation. Especially as the prince was now playing with the pommel of his dagger. Oberyn took a deep breath and exhaled, his smirk returning, he patted Robb on the back, “I’ll see you around young Lord Stark, my paramour Ellaria has arrived with her baggage train and we were going to see what this city has to offer.” He walked off whistling, Robb hung back not wanting to talk to any longer.

“Have fun Prince Oberyn,” he shouted afterwards as a farewell.

“I always do,” he replied. Robb smiled.

He didn’t want to return to his solar just yet, he decided on heading to the Red Keep’s public garden overlooking Blackwater Bay. It was his favourite place in the capital. Not that he had been too many places, it was where he relaxed, it was where he calmed himself about the loss of his grandfather and it was where he kissed Margaery Tyrell. How could that fat idiot produce such a beautiful girl? Loras Tyrell was known for his looks too, perhaps Alerie Hightower was gorgeous. 

Robb walked towards the gardens, alleviating a server of a goblet of wine from a tray he was carrying, he sipped the sweet, red liquid feeling immediately more relaxed. The garden was nearly completely empty, a few ladies in waiting were milling about, and one group looked at him and smiled and giggled. He smiled back and kept walking with a confidence boost through the labyrinthine paths to the secluded spot he liked and placed his cup down on the wall overlooking the harbour. He sighed and leant against the wall taking small drinks of wine and soaking in the city. He thought of his grandfather again, he hadn’t really thought of him since three days ago, but he hadn’t had a raven from Winterfell yet. It should arrive any day now. He hadn’t written to his parents since his first fortnight in King’s Landing. He hadn’t been in much of a state to do so.

Dear Mum/Dad,

I’ve been drinking and whoring. How is Sansa/Arya/Bran/Rickon? p.s I need more gold for… reasons. 

Lots of love,

Robb.

That didn’t seem appropriate and he didn’t want to lie and falsify what he was doing to seem more noble and responsible. Better to omit the lies and say nothing. 

“You really like this spot huh?” Came a familiar sing-song musical voice from behind him which made him leap out his skin in shock, every time someone approached him at this place he was surprised. Margaery was wearing a green and white sleeveless dress which hugged her curves at her waist and showed her perfect tanned skin and stop staring Robb. He had forgotten what she said.

“What are you doing here?” he asked a little too sharply, and felt a twinge of guilt as her smile dropped. “I mean, sorry, I, look I just had a council meeting,” she smiled again. Walked over and took his cup and drank from it.

“I hear there is a new member,” she said looking over the wall at the city. 

“Oberyn Martell, the Prince of Dorne,” Robb said grandly trying a little too hard to be funny, but he got a small titter from her which made his heart skip slightly. “Your father didn’t like him too much.” Her face darkened. 

“He crippled my brother… Look I don’t want to talk about it,” she said smiling again, “how are you coping?”

He didn’t know what she meant at first until he felt guilty again for forgetting about his grandfather. “Yeah, yeah I suppose it’s fine, one day at a time,” he responded evenly hoping not to reveal his callousness and felt the warmth of her hand resting over his and she squeezed it reassuringly. Her hand was soft and dainty, as a lady’s should be. 

“That’s the best way to be, I suppose I was really young when my grandfather passed. He rode off a cliff,” she said. Robb tried not to laugh. 

“Sorry to hear that.”

“It’s ok, I can’t remember him,” she returned. Her hand still hadn’t left his. “Let’s talk about nicer things, did you hear there is another feast and dance soon, they seem to occur weekly here! I thought we partied a lot in the Reach but the King seems to take any chance to have a celebration.”

“I think they mentioned it at the small council, I wasn’t paying attention, it’s mostly Littlefinger and Varys talking about money and petty politics.” Her hand was still there.

“We can finish that dance,” she said, seemingly ignoring his comment, her thumb started to gently rub against the side of his hand and he felt a shiver go through his body. 

“You won’t push me away will you? I can’t face falling on my arse in front of the court,” he said allowing himself to glance down at her hand on his. She laughed and shook her head. 

“I have to go,” she said looking downcast, “I slipped away from my handmaidens but they’ll wonder where I’ve gone, I’ll look forward to that dance you promised me!”

“Did I promise that I don’t remember agreeing to that,” he teased. She giggled leant in and kissed him on the cheek her lips lingering for a moment longer, gave him one last smile which made his heart somersault as he glided off into the garden towards the Red Keep. 

He placed his hand to his cheek and smiled. He carried on drinking from his cup and looking out to sea. He needed more wine.


	12. Fuses

“Another feast my Lord?” Jory asked him somewhat aghast, “that would be the 5th, 6th I don’t can’t even count, in the last month.”

“Well I haven’t attended them all,” Robb replied feeling like he was being accused.

“No, no you’ve been busy with other activities,” Jory said slightly quieter than before.

“Excuse me Jory? Do you have something you want to say to me,” Robb snapped at him.

“No my Lord,” came the response, but it was through gritted teeth.

“It sounds like you do,” Robb felt his blood rising, he had enough of Jory disapproving of him, he was his Lord not his mate and he was here to serve not to give council. If he wanted to say something he could say rather than roll his eyes or have a snarky attitude. 

“Fine,” Jory finally said after a pause, “your behaviour isn’t right, you drink heavily, you go out to town and come back in the early hours or sometimes the next morning, such actions are unbecoming. Your father…”

“Isn’t here, and isn’t me, and since you are not my father but just a commoner and a guard maybe you should learn not pass judgement on your betters,” Robb exploded, “I enjoy myself as I am free to do so, I have no children to raise, no wife to attend to and my duty is to sit on the council which I do, so explain to me Jory what have I done wrong in your high estimation?!” 

Jory’s jaw twitched and he looked like he wanted to fight him, but Robb was so worked up and he didn’t care, it was unprofessional for Jory to speak to him in such a way. His captain took a deep breath and steadied himself, “my family has served the Starks for…”

“Well serve me then, don’t presume you can lecture me,” Robb interrupted and with that outburst turned on his heel and stalked away from the Stark compound into the town. He heard a ‘yes my Lord,’ spoken sullenly behind him but he didn’t turn. As the rage subsided he realised he had nowhere to go and had walked into town. 

Blackwater Bay. He could go to the harbour he enjoyed looking at from on high he supposed, it would kill an hour at least to walk there and back before he had to prepare for the feast that evening. Oberyn Martell was being greeted by the King, the only way the King knew how with too much food and too much drink. The next week the Queen was returning and there would be another banquet, which Robb suspected was an excuse for Robert to binge not at the behest of the disinterested Queen. It was a little ridiculous, Jory was right, but equally what else was there to do? Apparently Jon Arryn was known to curb the King’s excesses but he was on a long suffering sick bed, while his brother Stannis, another voice of restraint had left and if anyone knew why they hadn’t informed him. 

He reasoned he could have his haircut to look his best for Margaery tonight.

 

***

He straightened out his doublet, it was grey with a faint, black outline of a direwolf over his breast, it was the smartest item of clothing he had and went well with his dark brown trousers and light brown leather boots. He tried to smooth his shorter curls down at his parting with some water but they sprung back into place and over and over. Fuck it, it would take all night to tame his hair, simply having a visible parting would have to be good enough. He poured and drank a cup of wine while giving himself a final look over in the mirror. He looked good, even if he did say so himself. 

The Red Keep was abuzz with excitement, there were rumours the Martells had hired Dornish entertainers from the city. That was a benefit of King’s Landing, one could find any culture from the Seven Kingdoms and from beyond the Narrow Sea. The guards outside look sullen, presumably disappointed they would be missing the rare Southron show. Robb didn’t know what they got up in Sunspear and had only really heard of indulgence and promiscuity. 

The Throne Room had several groups of knights and ladies and dignitaries milling around and Ser Jaime was sitting on the steps under the Throne itself with a look of disdain on his face as he surveyed the attendees. He saw Robb and caught his eye, he nodded his head upwards and beckoned. He made his way over to the Kingslayer through the people.

“I haven’t seen you in a while.” Robb greeted him. The smile normally playing on Jaime’s lips was gone and his eyes looked serious.

“It’s only been a handful of days, I have been guarding the King, have you seen him in a while?”

“No.”

“No, I don’t know who’s running these bloody Kingdoms at the moment! Arryn is probably going to die soon,” he said casually as if were not a problem, “the King couldn’t give two shits what happens provided he has wine and whores and the small council is made up of the unqualified, no offense, or the overly devious. Then what do we do? We invite a snake.”

“He’s my new neighbour,” Robb told him.

“Yes I heard earlier, those apartments are normally where high-ranking guests would stay. I wouldn’t trust him Stark, he is a party animal, he will drink with you and woo you with his charm if you let him but he is poisonous.”

“I was told not to like you either,” Robb taunted, he wasn’t comfortable with a serious Jaime, it didn’t seem right. It would be like his father cracking jokes and drinking like the King.

“Yes but I haven’t been nice to you, it’s just my natural charm coming through,” he said, a flicker of his smile returning. He, wordlessly, held up his hand and Robb took it and helped him up. “Come on let’s see this freak show and try not to eat too much of their food it will burn your arsehole off on the way out.”

“Noted.”

“I’m really not joking, but they make nice wine, so drink that and see if Mace Tyrell stamps his feet and runs off to his room, that will be more interesting than fire breathers or half dressed dancers… Well maybe not the dancers,” he smirked, his cocky smile returning as the made for the dining room.


End file.
